\herosection{The Mirror That Knew} \dropstart{Iren} had spent seven years making the mirror. The glass came from white sand gathered at the winter sea. The silver had been melted three times. The frame was cedar, carved with a single inscription: \begin{quote} KNOW THYSELF. \end{quote} People said Iren's mirrors showed more than faces. He never corrected them. \medskip His apprentice Sela was polishing the frame when a merchant arrived. ``I heard you have finished it.'' ``Nearly.'' The merchant stood before the mirror. His reflection appeared at once. He smiled. ``I had heard there was something unusual about it.'' ``There is.'' The merchant waited. Iren said nothing. After he left, Sela asked: ``What did it show?'' ``Apparently, a merchant.'' She laughed. Iren did not. \medskip Others came. An old woman saw herself clearly and began to cry. A magistrate saw only the room behind him. A thief saw his own face and laughed until he had to sit down. A young mother looked into the glass for a long time. ``What do you see?'' Iren asked. ``Nothing.'' Her child tugged at her sleeve. She smiled down at him. In the mirror, she remained absent. \medskip Iren kept notes. Age. Occupation. Temperament. Whether the person was married. Whether they prayed. Whether they were scoundrels. Whether they gave to beggars. He filled three books. No pattern emerged. Except one. His own reflection never appeared. Whenever Iren stood before the glass,\\ there was only pale fog. \medskip He changed the silver. The fog remained. He remade the backing. Fog. He altered the angle of the frame. Fog. At last he stripped the mirror to bare glass and began again. Six months later,\\ fog. \medskip ``You've spoiled the mixture,'' he told Sela. She looked up from her work. ``I haven't touched it.'' ``Something changed.'' ``Perhaps.'' ``What?'' ``I don't know.'' He stared at her. ``You stand before it.'' Sela hesitated. Then she did. Pale fog covered the glass. Iren stepped closer. ``But you---'' ``I know.'' ``What does that mean?'' Sela looked at the mirror. ``I don't know.'' \medskip That night Iren remained in the workshop. He polished the glass until his shoulders ached. He measured the frame. Checked the backing. Lit another lamp. Then another. Near dawn, he found himself sitting on the floor. Seven years. Three notebooks. A mirror that showed thieves,\\ hid mothers,\\ and refused to show either its maker\\ or the girl who had helped him make it. He began to laugh. He wasn't sure why. After a while, the laughter stopped. \medskip The lamps burned low. Iren stood once more before the mirror. He did not straighten his robe. He did not adjust the light. He did not look for fog. He simply stood there,\\ too tired to ask the glass for anything. For an instant,\\ a face flickered --- worn,\\ uncertain,\\ human --- and then was gone. Iren reached toward the glass. Then stopped. Behind him,\\ morning entered the workshop. \reflectionshead What are we really looking for when we ask to see ourselves clearly?